


Unconventional Countess

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Canonical Character Death, Community: trope_bingo, Community: unconventionalcourtship, F/M, Hair Kink, Horses, Minor Character Death, Temporary Amnesia, Unconventional Relationship, biromantic max, grey-a silver, romantic nonsexual relationship, shameless repurposing of Woodes Rogers' history for plot purposes, silver's type is people who can kill him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11828151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: John Silver, the fraudulent Earl of Poole, awakes to find a beauty berating him - but he cannot recall the last three months of his life, nor having a wife. Max is clearly a most unsuitable consort, but then he's known as being an unconventional earl. Suspicious of Max's presence in his life, Silver struggles to regain his memories but it seems his heart remembers things his head does not.





	Unconventional Countess

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2017 [Unconventional Courtship challenge](http://unconventionalcourtship.dreamwidth.org)  
> and for the trope bingo prompt "trust and vows"  
> Thank you to maerzkindt and tinamour for all their brainstorming, encouragement, and beta-reading.

"-of all the stupid, reckless, pig-headed—"

Silver stirred, wondering who was getting berated and hoping it wasn't him. It was comfortable lying here, though any movement made it distinctly less so, and the woman's voice was disturbing his calm.

He forced open bleary eyes, hoping to quiet her down, whoever she was. Maybe a visitor yelling at his staff, and he'd deal with such impudence, but much later.

The woman broke off mid-sentence, expression going from angry to hopeful in the space of a moment, a moment in which he thought that waking up was at least worth it to gaze on her face. Hazel eyes softened. "Thank God."

For what? Silver blinked, which didn't hurt too badly, and then tried to sit up which hurt quite a lot.

"Sssh," the woman soothed. She wasn't dressed like a staff member, the elegant black and yellow gown suggesting a noblewoman. She turned her head. "Doctor Howell!"

Howell might have drugs, which would be nice, so Silver didn't object. He appraised the woman afresh, flawless light brown skin and dark wavy hair. He wasn't displeased to have her in his bedroom but he was rather puzzled by her presence. Noblewomen didn't tend to allow themselves to be alone with men they were not related to.

The physician bustled in and gave Silver a look of surprise. "You're awake."

While he could dispense helpful preparations Howell had earned the reputation for zealousness in other treatments and was a little too fond of amputating limbs and bestowing doom-filled declarations of impending death. Silver did a quick count of his appendages, uncertain how he'd ended up under Howell's care in the first place. Everything seemed to be there.

"What happened?" Silver asked.

"Don't you remember?" Howell frowned.

"If I did, would I be asking you?" Silver didn't have to work at manufacturing his ire but he would have done so if necessary. An earl, even a bed-ridden one, had an image to maintain. Especially a fake earl.

The woman shot Howell a look. Howell ignored her. "There was an accident," Howell began.

"Accident," the woman sneered.

"Not an accident?" If someone had tried to kill him if would help if Silver could recall the details.

Howell cleared his throat, attempting to establish his authority, which earned him venomous glares from both the woman and Silver. He was starting to like her, whoever the hell she was.

"You were attempting to ride Sea-Fury," Howell said.

Silver ran through a few possibilities and discarded whores and euphemisms. "A new horse?" He wasn't in the habit of forgetting acquisitions for his stable but it seemed the most obvious explanation.

"Yes. Somewhat in need of further domesticating, I gather. Your groom protested but you insisted on attempting to ride the beast and were thrown, knocked unconscious." Howell tugged at his cuffs. "You were fortunate to sustain only bruising, and a badly twisted knee. It will take some time before you can walk without a limp but it should heal without further treatment."

Unlucky for Howell who'd have liked to get a little more work and financial reward but lucky for Silver.

"The head injury is somewhat worrying," Howell added more hopefully, "and you've been unconscious for a while."

"How long?" Silver demanded, one hand bunching up the sheets in panic.

"Over an hour."

Silver relaxed. Maybe that was a long time in Howell's experience but given his lack of knowledge of the horse that had thrown him, Silver had feared it had been longer.

Howell wanted to know if his vision was blurred, if he was nauseous, if the light was overly bright. Silver demurred.

"I have a question," Silver said, Howell deflating as it seemed his patient wasn't going to require much more than a pat on the head and a bottle of laudanum. He gestured to the woman. "Who are you?"

The woman froze in place. She swallowed, hands clutching her skirts, eyes darting around like a spooked rabbit.

"My Lord," Howell said in the careful tone of one talking down an enraged drunk with a broken bottle in his hand, "that is your wife."

_Wife?_

_Fuck._

"Excuse me?" Silver fell back on politeness out of habit.

"Her name is Max," Howell added helpfully as if this ought to mean something.

The woman - Max - stared at him. Her lower lip trembled once and then she drew herself together, proud and strong. He admired her for it. "You do not remember me?"

"I'm sorry. I don't. And I'm finding it very difficult to believe I could forget marrying you." He found it hard to imagine he could forget her at all. She was remarkable, surely memorable. Her voice was incredible with an accent he couldn't place.

"What is the last thing you do remember?" Howell asked.

Silver frowned, thinking. "The ball at the Hamilton estate," he said at last. "I may have overindulged a little and stumbled up to bed." He put one hand to his temple, gingerly touching the bruise. He'd tripped on the stairs when he returned home but hadn't hurt himself as badly then as he had this time.

Max and Howell exchanged glances.

"That was three months ago," Max said. "Before we even met."

Silver scoffed. "I don't know what game you two are playing but I do not appreciate it."

Max stalked out of the room. Howell shook his head.

"Amnesia is not uncommon with head injuries," he offered. "Although three months is rather longer than I've personally witnessed in such cases as these. Age may addle the mind and memories…"

Silver stopped listening for Max returned at that moment and tossed a newspaper at him. He fumbled with the printed sheets, stilling when he caught sight of the date.

Three months later than he recalled.

_Oh shit._

Even Howell had fallen silent, noticing Silver's reaction.

"Now do you believe us?" Max asked, her tone soft.

He nodded. It was hard to refute the evidence that was literally in black and white. He still had doubts about his wife however.

"We met and married within three months?" She was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but he was not the marrying kind. A horrible thought occurred. "You're not pregnant are you?"

"No." The look she gave him made him involuntarily shrink back. 

"I had to ask. It seems we wed in haste." There must have been a reason, assuming he really had married her. His gaze fell on his wedding ring and he fiddled with it. The skin was indented beneath the silver band, so clearly he'd been wearing it for a while and it was not a prop that Max had slipped onto his finger while he was unconscious

_Try to remember that not everyone is as devious as you are_ , he told himself.

Max moistened her lips. "You declared there was no reason to wait," she said and God, her voice was lyrical, that accent sweet to his ears. Maybe she was a witch or something. That would explain a lot. "Not when you loved me with all of your heart and would not part with me for any treasure in the world."

Silver blinked a few times. "That does not sound like something I would say." Not unless he was playing her, and why would he need to? He'd already got everything he could want, hadn't he; a title, a house, money to spare, horses, household staff…

The staff would know the truth. He'd question them later.

In the meantime if Max was a witch who'd enchanted him then maybe the spell had broken hence the amnesia.

_Or maybe you've damaged your brain_ , he thought. _This is not witchcraft._ But there was more going on than anyone in this room wanted to admit.

"How do you know what you would say, since you don't remember?" Max arched an eyebrow, arms akimbo.

He'd lost three months, no more, that was how. He knew who he was. He knew damn well that he'd fraudulently become the Earl of Poole.

That was a secret only he knew. But wives tended to discover things and if Max knew the truth she could ruin him. Witch or not, he had better be on his best behaviour for a while until he figured things out.

"Will my memory come back?" he asked Howell.

The physician shrugged. "Probably. There is no certainty with these matters. I would suggest you go about your daily routine as much as possible without overdoing it. If you do experience any further symptoms, send for me at once."

Oh Silver would rush to, given how helpful Howell had been thus far. Silver managed not to speak his sarcasm aloud and instead read the paper while Max escorted the doctor out of the room.

"Do you need anything?" Max asked, startling him. She walked softly as a cat and had reappeared in the doorway without his knowledge.

"No. I don't think so." My memory back. The truth about what happened. To know why I married you.

She moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "You truly do not remember me?"

"No."

She swallowed. "Then we will have to start afresh." She lifted her hand, stroked a lock of hair back from his face, careful to avoid the bruise.

Silver had heard a couple of rumours about his proclivities - no wife, no whores, not rogering the female staff members. It looked unseemly especially given his age and charm. Maybe he'd been forced to marry to protect his reputation. It was as likely an explanation as any other. Yet why her then? She was not white - and that was not so unusual but when one was attempting to be more socially acceptable, a more unlikely bride to pick. Also she was surely no born noblewoman with a name like Max; an odd choice, on the surface of it.

If only he kept a journal. Of course he'd never dare be truly honest in it for fear of it being discovered so it wouldn't help much, but it might fill in some of the blanks.

He put the newspaper aside. "I think I'll sleep for a while," he said, realising he truly was tired, physically and emotionally.

"All right." She waited until he settled down and smoothed the covers around him solicitously. "I won't be far away, _mon amour_."

_Amour_ ; the accent was French? But he could no longer focus and drifted off to sleep.

*

It was early evening when he awoke again. He shuffled to the edge of the bed, wincing at his sore muscles. Max appeared in the doorway as if by magic. She pointed to a chair where clean garments had been laid out.

"Do you need assistance to dress?"

He wanted to say no, because he was still feeling adrift and unsure of her motives. He wanted to say yes because he wasn't sure he could manage. He'd never got the knack of allowing the servants to dress him as if he were an invalid, and his _nouveau riche_ status allowed him this foible. The unconventional earl was one of the nicer nicknames people had bestowed upon him.

Max took his hesitation as affirmation. She brought the clothes over. There was a moment of awkwardness over the nightshirt being removed until she said tonelessly, "Who do you think undressed you when you were unconscious?"

He gave in. He wasn't particularly modest in any case. There was some bruising evident on his left arm and shoulder and his knee was heavily bandaged - he winced when he tested his weight against it. There was also a mostly healed scar on his side which he didn't remember and which didn't look as if it was from the riding accident.

"Are you hungry? The cook has prepared the evening meal," Max said, holding his shirt so he could slide one arm into the sleeve.

"Yes."

Assuming no-one was going to try and poison him, that was. His paranoia was rampant.

"You're not usually so quiet," Max observed, smoothing down the cotton and buttoning the shirt closed.

So she knew him somewhat. He lifted his uninjured shoulder in a shrug. "It's been a long day."

She nodded. "I know."

When she'd finished dressing him she held out a finger for him to wait, fetched something from the wardrobe. She presented it to him. "The previous Earl's I believe," she said and Silver took the polished ebony cane with its gleaming silver handle. It was thoughtful and spoke of her knowledge of the man he'd claimed as cousin.

"Max," he said, trying out the name.

"Yes?"

"Is that short for something?"

She shook her head. "Only shorter and more familiar than the Countess of Poole."

He took her arm and with her help and the use of the cane made it downstairs without further incident. The dining table was set and they took their places. The butler came in and inclined his head.

"Sir. We are all relieved you were not more badly hurt."

"Thank you," Silver said. His eyes flicked to Max. He could hardly question the butler in front of her, and the man seemed to accept her presence without question. So they ate in silence aside from the occasional sound of a log moving in the grate or howl of the wind outside.

He allowed Max to lead him to a seat by the fire in the drawing room after the meal, where she presented him with a brandy before she took a seat opposite him, her own glass perched lightly between finger and thumb. In the soft firelight she was even more breathtaking, or maybe that was just the brandy talking.

"This is when we talk about our day," Max prompted, pupils wide, lips sensual. "Just us, the staff retired unless we ring for them. Our time to be ourselves, without pretence."

_Shit. _She knew or she suspected about the fraud? Well he wouldn't confirm anything. He'd been questioned by various authorities over the years and he knew a trap when he saw one. Silver gave her a puzzled look. "Ourselves?"__

____

____

"As much as yourself you can be while missing your memories," she allowed.

He took a swig of brandy. "This must be difficult for you too," he said, wondering what response that would elicit.

"That my husband does not recall me? Yes, it is difficult. But Howell said your memories should return. I will hope for that. And we will make new memories."

"You intend to woo me?" His tone was flirtatious without his conscious thought.

"Is it not your place to court me?"

Or his place to think he was courting her while all the time she was playing him. Fortune hunter, quite possibly, and with a face and body and voice like that, a successful one, no doubt. One who'd be a wealthy widow if he'd died in the accident.

"You're already my wife," he said with affected carelessness. "My countess. My sole inheritor."

She grasped the insinuation immediately, put aside her glass so violently that brandy sloshed over the side. She leaned forward, eyes flashing, hands grasping the arms of the chair. "If you suspect me of causing your accident then speak plainly and say it."

"I suspect it."

Something crossed her face, maybe pain, followed by sadness, but then her practical nature reasserted itself. She sat back in her chair, an elegant noblewoman again, relaxed as if he'd reassured her rather than accused her of attempted murder.

"If anyone caused your accident it was you," she said calmly. "Billy told you not to ride that horse, that it was not ready for any rider let alone one as relatively inexperienced as you. You own racehorses, you do not ride them. But you are stubborn sometimes, and you were reckless, and you insisted. And you paid the price."

Billy. Silver could get the truth from the groom tomorrow. He'd know all about the accident - unless Max had paid him off to help arrange Silver's death.

"Billy was distraught," Max went on, making him reconsider Billy's involvement. "He carried you back to the house crying that he'd killed you. It took a while for us to understand what had happened. Once I knew, I had the staff send for Howell. It took twenty minutes for him to arrive. I was alone with you all that time. I could easily have smothered you with a pillow."

Silver nearly choked on his brandy.

"My poor dear husband," Max said, voice sorrowful, "fatally injured in a fall from a horse and passed away before the doctor could attend him. Do you think there would have been any investigation? Do you think a weeping woman is the first suspect when the groom who witnessed the incident is telling everyone of his master's foolishness?"

_Shit. She's deadly, this one_. Sadly this only made her more attractive for reasons Silver could not articulate.

Max picked up her glass, took a sip, licked her lips. "If I wanted you dead, you would be."

She had a point. It was more reassuring than it ought to be.

"It is a strange thing to wake up married," Silver mused, his gaze falling on his wedding ring.

"It is a strange thing to be married at all," she said which was cryptic.

He was still tired physically but also mentally exhausted from being on edge about the wife he didn't recall but the servants clearly did, and excused himself soon after.

"Let me help you," she said and he didn't see the harm. It was nice to have someone to literally lean on, to have someone undress him with care. Was this a nightly routine or special treatment given his injuries?

She smoothed the nightshirt over his chest, palms warm even through the cotton. "What about your hair? Do you wish me to brush it?"

"Hmmm?" He blinked, distracted by her hands on his body. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail which would suffice for sleeping in, though the thought of Max's fingers sliding through the wavy locks as she combed out the tangles was strangely enticing. He probably wouldn't fully appreciate it right now though so he demurred. "This will suffice."

"All right." She placed the cane on the bedside table, balanced by the handle, so he could reach it easily. "Good night, then."

"Wait," he said. "You don't sleep here?"

She gave him an unreadable look and that was quite the feat. Silver had learnt early on to read people as a survival trait. He wasn't always right but he was right more often than not, yet Max made it difficult to guess what she was thinking.

"Sometimes," she said finally.

He nodded. That was often the way of it with the nobility, separate rooms so women could have space to keep their gowns and have maids fuss over their cosmetics and elaborate hairstyles, the marital bed only used when sex might lead to procreation.

"Would you like to me stay?" she asked.

"No," he said and wondered if that had been too quick or harsh a refusal given that moment of hurt on her face. "Not tonight," he added to soften the blow.

She took the offer. "You should rest," she agreed. She stayed to smooth down the covers again which might have seemed motherly though the kiss to his forehead lingered a little more than might be appropriate under such circumstances.

Perhaps things would make more sense tomorrow.

*

Silver's gaze fell upon the ebony cane at the side of the bed which brought back a succession of memories from yesterday and years before, if not the missing months.

After his latest mishap he had faced a choice; the sea or a clerkship within a legal firm, and he doubted he'd get seasick at the latter. The job required many of his talents: a good memory, an eye for detail, and decent penmanship. His curiosity and opportunistic nature had made use of the files he became privy to, working under the pseudonym of Solomon Little.

Six months into the job he began to put his next scheme into action. The firm did a good deal of tracking down lost inheritors, acting as executors of estates. Silver had thrown himself into this area most of all, learning exactly how to falsify the necessary documents and using the firms many books on the peerage and associated files to find a suitable candidate to defraud.

He chose Woods Rogers, Earl of Poole. Elderly, decent income, no longer ventured to town but stayed on his rather isolated estate in Dorset. Isolated was good. The earl had no known heirs; his only son, one Woodes Rogers, had been lost at sea two years ago.

Silver drew up papers that suggested a law firm had discovered his heritage while investigating a minor legal matter he'd consulted them on, grew out his hair, purchased the best coat he could afford, and headed off to Dorset.

Rogers got himself a new heir, a distant cousin many times removed, named John Silver. Silver got himself all the luxury he'd ever wanted.

Rogers had been a good man, somewhat befuddled in his old age, which had made Silver's scheme easier to enact. He had come to genuinely care for the gentleman who had welcomed him into his home and had to push aside the guilt at his deceit.

They would often walk the grounds together, Rogers leaning on his cane and, as he grew frail, on Silver's arm also. There was a certain peace here that Silver had known before and those months were precious memories he was glad he had not lost.

Silver had sat at this very bedside, comforting Rogers as the ailing man passed.

His instinct was to gather up what valuables he could and run, but that would have been foolish. The plan was sound. He would inherit a great deal of money if he kept his nerve. Besides there was the funeral to oversee, and the community had their eye on him - so many people visiting to offer their condolences - and the will had to pass through probate. Weeks went by, then months.

He'd always intended to take the money and disappear but now Silver found himself in possession of the title of Earl of Poole, given that he'd foolishly declared himself the last heir. For a while he could play the part, he decided. It came easily, too easily perhaps, and he had already become comfortable living the lifestyle of a nobleman. To never be concerned about money, food, or safety was alluring.

It didn't stop him making contingency plans. There was a reasonable amount of coin along with papers and jewellery stashed securely in the event he had to make his escape in a hurry. He would never be penniless again.

As time passed however the boredom he felt threatened to upset his comfort. There were only so many dances and dinners and grouse shoots one could go on before finding it chafing. He had the staff and he had acquaintances suitable to his station but Silver was mostly friendless and without the usual concerns of hunger or danger to bother him, it niggled at him like a stone in his shoe.

Recognising the symptoms he acted before he could do something destructive. He took up a hobby. It was mostly Billy's idea really, the groom who could be shy until his passions were aroused, and when they talked about horses Billy's eyes lit up. He had dreams of being a trainer and while Silver had no clue about racehorses he had enough money to purchase horses, equipment, and advice.

The element of risk in the venture soothed Silver's recklessness nature and the joy of being responsible for the horses delighted Billy. They began to win races and the endeavour began to pay for itself soon enough.

Sea-Fury, though, was not a horse he recalled.

What had happened since the night he remembered and his attempt to ride Sea-Fury? It was frustrating.

Silver took breakfast in his study, as was proper, but he didn't feel like dealing with his correspondence, instead mulling over his memories. He took a dose of laudanum and limped into the dining room.

Max sat back in her chair, china teacup in one hand. "Will you talk to Billy today?"

He nodded. They'd become as close as a master and employee could reasonably be and Silver was keen to hear Billy's side of the story.

"Good. I have things to do," Max said. "Unless you would prefer to stay with me and go over the arrangements for new linens and hear about the price of beef."

So she was in charge of the household arrangements, as befitted the lady of the house. Silver finished his tea. "I will leave you to conduct your business," he said, and inclined his head deferentially.

*

The walk to the stable took longer than usual, encumbered as he was by his damaged knee. Still to see Billy's face beam with relief at his approach was worth the effort. Billy ran over and Silver half-expected a hug but Billy remembered himself at the last moment and halted, wringing his hands a few times.

"I'm glad to see you're alive," Billy said. He winced, nodding to the cane. "Is it very bad, sir?"

"It will heal," Silver said. "My pride is hurt more, I think."

Billy shook his head. "That horse would have unseated any rider," he said. "I told you not to, sir. Begged you. I should never have allowed it."

"I don't recall." Seeing Billy's puzzlement, Silver clarified, "It seems I have lost some of my memories." He swept back a lock of hair to show off the purpling bruise.

Billy's mouth fell open. "That's terrible."

"Yes."

"You remember who I am, sir?"

"Yes, Billy. It's only the last three months or so I have lost." Silver took a breath. "Howell thinks the memories will return but I find myself confused."

"Yes, sir."

He'd have to be more specific. "My wife."

Billy's eyes widened. "Of course. You don't remember your wedding. That's so sad."

"Yes," Silver said dismissively. "More to the point I don't remember how I even met Max."

Billy swallowed and studied the sky a moment. "The countess would better tell that story."

She would but it might well be a story and Silver needed the truth.

"We wed in great haste," Silver prompted, hoping to steer Billy in the right direction. "And I do not recall why."

Billy gave him a pained look, torn between loyal silence and loyal tattling. Silver sighed and deployed his next card. He shifted position, wincing. "I need to sit."

Helping his invalid employer to a nearby bench let Billy feel useful while reminding him of the guilt he felt. Silver had Billy sit next to him and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"The countess is not the sort of wife I might have chosen," Silver prompted. "She is at the least from overseas and I wonder at her credentials." Hypocrite that he was with his own false title.

Billy shook his head. "Well there was the storm," he allowed, "after the duel."

"The what?"

"Not that you would ever participate in a duel," Billy said, and it was clear that this was a necessary lie.

Silver frowned. He would never agree to a duel. It was too risky. Men had been killed. Too many recently and the authorities were starting to take notice.

"This duel that I didn't participate in. Who was it with?"

Billy tipped his head. "Dusfresne," he said.

"And the outcome?"

"He's dead. Hunting accident," Billy said. "Not a duel, obviously."

"Obviously," Silver echoed, amazed. "And how was the countess involved?"

Billy shrugged. "She was not your wife then, but rumours say that she was your second." He sniffed. "Odd choice of a second. I'd have gladly stood at your side, a servant a better choice than a woman. If there'd been a duel. Which there wasn't."

Silver stared at Billy until he shuffled under his master's piercing gaze. This was too ridiculous for Billy to have invented it. If he were going to lie he'd have come up with something more plausible.

"Well," Silver said at last. "It all worked out for the best, it seems."

Up until it ended with him marrying a woman at least as reckless as he was, and twice as enigmatic.

He took pity on Billy and turned the conversation to the horses. Billy's enthusiasm and hopes for their venture lifted his spirits and it was with reluctance that he made to stand. Billy offered his hand and Silver allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

"You won't have to carry me back to the house today," he joked and Billy looked grief-stricken, making him regret the jest.

"Don't do that again please, sir," Billy begged.

"I will take more care in future," Silver said and began to make his way back to the house. Yet was that a promise he could keep? He'd apparently got involved in a duel and attempted an ill-advised wild horse ride recently. Maybe he was addicted to the thrill now and doomed to keep putting himself in danger.

*

Max was reading by the fire when he returned, her household duties seemingly completed.

Silver shuffled into the room, irritated by his lack of speed. "Billy says I participated in a duel which everyone agrees did not actually take place."

"Billy says many things." Unperturbed, she closed the book and put it aside before she stood to give him her full attention.

"Why would I agree to a duel?"

Max shrugged. "You had your reasons."

"I want the whole story. I want you to tell me what you know. Enough of this dancing around the truth."

His growing anger did not disturb her. "I will not."

"Why?" His fingers clutched at the cane until it dug painfully into his palm.

Her tone softened. "You will doubt anything I tell you. You do not trust me. The truth must come back to you in your own time. Or you must accept what is and learn to trust me again without the knowledge of what has passed between us."

She was right. Every time he was told something he questioned it; his marriage, the duel. If he couldn't fully believe what Billy was telling him then he would certainly be distrustful of anything she confided. Still it rankled.

"Or put an end to this charade?" he asked, striking out in his frustration, not knowing if the barb would hit, if this marriage was real.

Max lowered her gaze and he was immediately sorry. "If you wish it," she said stiffly. "It would not be the first time we have had this conversation."

"Forgive me that I do not recall those other times," was his sharp retort. Yet his thoughts were elsewhere. _Forgive me for hurting you. God forgive me for trying to drive you away while I have no idea what you might yet mean to me._ "And what would that mean for me?"

She glanced around before she spoke, ensuring they were alone. "For the charade that you are an earl?"

Silver held his breath.

Max shook her head. "Nothing. I swore to keep your secret. It was part of the arrangement. The marriage can be ended but that vow I will keep."

He wanted to believe her. She held her head high, daring him to challenge her, hands clasped in front of her, resplendent in the emerald green gown.

_Who are you?_

Which stirred up the past…

*

Silver strolled into the study and came to a halt. No one had informed him there was company and certainly not company like this.

The woman, admiring the portraits on the wall, noticed his approach and turned to meet him. She gave a sly smile, hands smoothing down her emerald green dress.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" Silver asked, debating how quickly he could get to his desk where a letter opener was an immediately available weapon and a pistol in the top drawer a better if more difficult to reach option.

"My name is Max. I have come to give you a warning."

He took a few steps towards the desk. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Out of the kindness of your heart?"

She lifted an eyebrow and gave an impressive shrug that drew his attention to her cleavage. "I would hope a gentleman of your standing would see your way to providing a reward."

He relaxed a little. If she wanted money he could provide that in lieu of violence. "How much money would you deem appropriate for such a kindness?"

"That would depend on how much you value your life and your reputation."

Silver affected a casual demeanour as he walked to the desk and put his hand close to the letter opener. "You name high stakes, madam, but I am uncertain of the risk."

She looked to the doorway and over her shoulder before she spoke. "I know that John Silver is not the rightful Earl of Poole."

He grabbed for the letter opener more from shock than any thought of actually stabbing her with it. "There's a vase on the shelf to your right," he said tightly. "Worth a small fortune. Hideous thing but I am assured it is valuable. Take it and go."

She gave him a look of scorn. "You offer me an ugly jug for my silence?"

"It seems a fair price for someone who comes to slander me in pretence of warning me of their impending betrayal and begging for hush money."

Max regarded him coolly. "I do bring warning. I have met the rightful heir."

"There is no such person."

"The young Woodes Rogers did not perish at sea."

Silver sat abruptly, still clutching the letter opener. 

Max moved to take the seat opposite. "I will be blunt."

"That would probably be best."

Max nodded. "I was working at a brothel in Nassau. Woodes Rogers visited me."

The whore was a long way from home.

"Your own success has been your undoing," Max went on. "There was a newspaper which made its way to us. Faded from its journey but nonetheless the article was readable. The Earl of Poole celebrating his racehorse's victory. Rogers was furious about it. He railed at great length about the impostor. He is the rightful heir and the last of the line."

"He was thought lost at sea."

"He had encountered," Max paused to consider, "difficulties."

Financial difficulties, Silver guessed. There had been murmurs of debts Woodes had accumulated while on the continent. Perhaps had there been other, more personal matters, or legal concerns that had exacerbated the situation, but whatever the case it seemed Woodes had been in enough trouble to either deliberately fake his death or to have allowed a near miss to be interpreted as having led to his demise.

"Difficulties that will keep him in Nassau?"

She shrugged. "He talked, in his fury, of returning solely to punish the upstart who had claimed the title of earl. I thought he might intend murder. But then there was an incident."

Here Max paused and raised her eyebrows, gave a smug smile. Oh, there'd been an incident all right. Silver was suddenly more grateful to have the letter opener in his grasp.

"He was arrested," Max said breezily. "I took his money and used it to buy passage to England."

She'd had her customer the real heir imprisoned so she could beat him here and extort money from the false earl. Silver was impressed despite his anger and fear.

"So when he is released he will come here," Silver mused. "And I am forewarned due to your selflessness."

"I could be useful," Max said leaning forward seductively. "I know what he looks like - that portrait on the wall barely resembles him at all. I could point him out to you in a crowd before he could reach you."

Silver swallowed. "I don't think that will be necessary." A one-off payment should silence her. He didn't intend to keep her around demanding ever larger sums of money.

She shrugged. "Then what do you suggest?"

He unlocked the desk drawer. "£300 pounds is all I have to hand," he said, preparing to sign the banknotes, and it was a significant amount of money. "Or you may take the vase and any other valuable item you can carry from this house."

"Perhaps I will entertain other offers," Max said, pushing back the chair and standing once more.

Silver jumped to his feet. "That is a decent offer!"

"This estate is worth far more." Max headed for the french windows, clearly the way she'd entered the house unseen. "I will come back tomorrow and perhaps you will have reconsidered."

He watched her go, pondered if he ought to go after her and try to bargain further. Or threaten to kill her - but she seemed dangerous and while he would act in self-defence he was no murderer. 

He could gather up his stash and run before she exposed him or he could bide his time and see how this played out.

He chose the latter. He could still flee if the situation warranted it and he hadn't come this far by firing off a shot too early. He could hold his nerve for a day. Tomorrow might bring better alternatives…

*

"John?" Max's voice was filled with concern. She had her hands on his shoulders and he was leaning into her. " _Mon chéri_. Talk to me."

He closed his eyes, gathered himself. "I remembered something."

"That is good." She lifted one hand now he had his balance, cupped his cheek, her thumb caressing his chin.

"Is it? I remember you were a whore. That you tried to blackmail me."

She didn't deny it nor did she move away.

"How did we go from there to here? Why do I feel more trust than suspicion about you?"

She shook her head. "I will not tell you. Your memories are returning. You will know soon enough."

What other horrors might he recall? Yet what marvels might he remember? She'd seemed concerned for him ever since he woke and her affection appeared genuine. That she'd once been a whore did make him question her authenticity; she'd have learnt how to manipulate her customers and she'd come to him intending to win him over.

Still he couldn't help but look at her and feel that there was more to this arrangement than blackmail. His heart seemed to remember things that his head had forgotten.

Was it possible he'd truly come to care for her? Was it so foolish to wish she had also come to care for him?

*>

"Wake up," Max was urging and, like trying to surface from beneath the waves, Silver fought his way free of the nightmare.

When he managed to open his eyes, panting for breath, Max was kneeling at his side, shaking him. She let go of him when she saw he was awake and smoothed back a sweat drenched curl of hair from his face.

"The orphanage?" she guessed.

He didn't know what he'd told her of his past for her to guess at that. He shook his head. The dream had been jumbled but terrifying. He'd been sinking into quicksand with an empty gun in his hand and a loaded one pointed at his head.

"It's all right. You're safe." Max slipped under the covers and cuddled up to him, soothing him with her presence. "I will stay here tonight."

It was so good to hold her. She was warm and soft and smelt of her perfume, faded but still with hints of rosemary and lemon. She pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

Silver relaxed and moved one hand to cup Max's elbow, holding her closer. He wished their short-sleeved cotton shifts were absent entirely, would have relished her flesh against his, a more intimate contact that would have warmed him further. If he asked her to she would probably remove her garment. Once a whore and now a wife and seemingly ready to please. Yet would she comply solely to grant his request or would it please her too? Would she think he wanted more than just her touch? Was this already more closeness than they'd previously experienced?

"Thank you," he said, nothing more, and she nuzzled at him. 

He closed his eyes again and on the edge of sleep, found himself remembering something more of Max.

*

Still smarting from Max's attempt to blackmail him, Silver went to the Rochester's ball that evening, wondering if it would outshine last week's ball thrown by the Hamiltons.

He'd been trying to put the woman from his mind which proved difficult when she was already in attendance.

"Lady Guthrie, I think," Colonel Lucas said, when Silver casually mentioned her. Silver found the man difficult company. The colonel thought he was more amusing than he was, and had a tendency, no doubt honed by the military, to bark out short sentences so a conversation could feel like being hit with volleys of words.

"Where is she from?"

"Supposedly some relation to old Smytherson. Most likely out of wedlock," Lucas said in what were for him hushed tones. "Prevailed upon young Jefferson for assistance. Him being another. One of Symtherson's distant relations. Half-sibling."

Max, standing at Jefferson's side, caught Silver's eye. She gave him a smug look before turning her attention elsewhere.

"Probably hoping to win herself an English gentleman. Find a husband," Lucas said with cynicism that was probably deserved. "Pretty little thing. Damnable accent mind."

It took Silver several minutes to work his way around the room and be introduced to the Lady Guthrie. He asked for a dance and she acquiesced, the only way they could reasonably talk under the current circumstances.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, keeping his voice as low as he could while being audible to her.

"Dancing," she retorted as they moved close together and then apart. When she came near again she added, "Have you reconsidered my offer?"

"I shall," Silver said, terrified she might reveal his charade to the entire room, so brazen was she.

She gave him a dazzling smile that he found more pleasing than he should have.

Things only got worse however when Dufresne and his constant companion Georges began to harass Silver after that dance. It was unusual to see him in the company of women, they claimed. This was not true; Silver danced with women all the time. He was good at it, he enjoyed it, and it was part of the social scene.

What they were referring to however was his lack of a wife. He had no fiancée, was not courting anyone. He didn't have a mistress, wasn't rumoured to take harlots to his bed (because he wasn't taking anyone to bed).

There were plenty of bachelors in society despite mothers desperately shoving myriad daughters at them. Yet somehow Dufresne found Silver's lack of interest in women particularly annoying and this was not the first time he'd made veiled accusations that Silver might be a sodomite. In fact ever since Silver had arrived at the estate Dusfrene had commented on his miraculous appearance, the timely return of a hitherto unknown heir who wasted no time ensuring he was welcomed into the earl's confidence. 

They distrusted each other but it had never come to blows before, let alone anything more serious.

Maybe he was overwrought from Max's visit and her presence here even now, maybe Dufresne had just pushed him too hard once too often, maybe he was tired of having his personal life be subject to unnecessary scrutiny. Whatever the reason Silver made a mistake.

"Speak plainly, sir," he told Dufresne. "What do you accuse me of?"

"Of preferring the company of men," Dufresne said, drawing a gasp and a rumble of discontent from those close enough to hear. Georges smirked, enjoying the show, doe-eyes fixed on Dusfresne.

"You defame my name. I demand satisfaction." Silver could not back down now. He ought not to have given Dufresne the chance to issue the slander, for now he had no choice but to push back. He knew Dufresne had lost money betting against his racehorse on more than one occasion but was the man this vindictive?

Dufresne sketched a bow. "Choose your second, sir." He walked away.

Silver ran a hand over his face. The room spun. He wasn't sure how he made it out of the house. He had not brought his horse, preferring to walk via the shortcut over the fields between the Rochester estate and his own. He'd cleared one stile when he heard someone following him and paused, turned to face his would-be attacker.

"What happened back there?" Max asked.

"An end to my life of leisure," Silver said. Out of habit he assisted Max over the stile, for she was fumbling with her skirts.

"How so?"

"I will have to leave," Silver said.

"You are afraid of that man?"

"Dufresne?" Silver laughed. "I am terrified of him. Do you know how many duels he has been challenged to in the last six months? Three. Do you know how many he won? Three. Do you know how many of his challengers survived? None."

Max considered this, picking her way carefully across the grass. The moon was almost full so the field was not fully in darkness. It would have been a pleasant walk, a romantic stroll even, under other circumstances.

"Is he so skilled or does he cheat?"

"I fear the latter but it cannot be proved." Silver sighed. "I have some savings and I will disappear, probably abroad. Anything else in the house is yours. Take it while you can, madam."

He'd enjoyed being an earl, for the most part. Particularly the parts where he always had a roof over his head and food to eat.

"Then you are a coward who will turn your back on your responsibilities?"

He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"You are an earl. You have a responsibility to your staff, your tenants, and everyone involved in your business endeavours."

"I'm not really an earl."

"You have been pretending to be so and enjoying the privileges of it for some time. Now you ought to stand up and defend yourself and your interests."

She had a point, even if he did not want to acknowledge it. Yet he'd always taken the easy option.

Stay and fight and maybe die. Run and lose all he'd worked for but live.

"I will be your second."

He wasn't supposed to go through with the duel at all yet she was certain he would. "Excuse me?"

Max shrugged. "I know it ought to be a trusted friend and a male one at that, but do you have a male peer willing to stand at your side? Gossip says you are an unconventional earl and polite society keeps you at a somewhat of a distance."

It was true. Lucas was the closest he had to someone of his social class that might consider him friend enough to be his second, and Silver didn't trust Lucas one bit. Dufresne might be so taken aback by Max showing up as Silver's second that he might call the whole thing off. Might even assume she was Silver's concubine and retract the accusation.

"You are insane," Silver said.

"I will come to the house at dawn tomorrow," she said.

He didn't bother to argue, merely escorted her back over the stile. She headed back towards the party, no doubt to prevail further upon Jefferson, who was no more her relation than Silver was related to Rogers. Silver went home, deep in thought.

He slept little and half a dozen times thought of leaving. The idea that he could keep this estate however, the notion that he could put a stop to Dufresne's harassment once and for all was enticing.

If he ran now, it was all over.

Dawn arrived shortly before Max did and Silver was waiting.

"I took the liberty of visiting Dufresne on my way here. After some condescending words about me, about you, and about you sending a woman to beg for your life, he confirmed he wished to duel. He will not withdraw his accusation nor apologise."

"We could run," Silver said, one final attempt at walking away.

"We?"

"You're devious which could be helpful, and I'd like you where I can see you," Silver said. He did not intend to get stabbed in the back literally nor metaphorically. "And you can help me pack. We can load up a carriage, head for the nearest port, flee England."

Max tipped her head. "I can help you win the duel."

That might change things. "Oh?"

"I got Jefferson drunk last night," Max said, moving around the study, glaring at the ugly vase. "He told me that some are calling Dufresne the _'count' who cannot count_."

"He's not a count," Silver said.

"You miss the point, _mon ami_. Jefferson also calls him Dufresne Sept. In honour of his French name and the fact he shoots on the count of seven, not ten."

Well that would explain his constant successes. Silver stared at her. "Why do the dead man's seconds not object?"

"I assume they are threatened into silence by Dusfresne and his second."

Georges, of course, always following Dusfresne around like a adoring hound. "And if I cheat, if I should win, what of Georges?"

Max smiled. "Let me handle him. Dusfrene bids you meet him at eight this morning by the old stone bridge. Dr Howell will be in attendance."

It looked as if he was doing this.

"If I die I suppose you'll come back here and carry off whatever valuables you can lay your hands on," Silver groused as he took his pistol from the desk.

"Naturally." She smiled again. "But I have faith you can succeed. And then we can again discuss my terms."

Either way Max won.

Silver still wasn't sure why he was risking his life but he was committed now and they headed off to the rendezvous.

*

Howell was resolutely examining a tree trunk. Dufresne and Georges were waiting nearby. Max, wearing a beautiful grey cloak over her dark purple gown, took up a position near Howell.

"I didn't think you'd show," Dusfresne said. "You have more backbone than I thought. Will you withdraw?"

"You know I cannot. Will you apologise?"

Dufresne leered at him. "You know I will not."

"Let's get this over with," Silver said.

He and Dusfresne stood, back to back.

"One," Georges called. "Two."

They paced away from each other, pistol in hand. Sweat was gathering on Silver's brow, at his armpits. His heart was racing.

"Three. Four."

Why on earth had he agreed to this? Did he really care so much for Billy and the other staff, for the comforts of an earldom, more than he cared about his life? He'd never much cared for honour. Yet Dufresne had forced his hand by choosing something Silver could not afford to let stand. He would not be hanged for sodomy.

"Five. Six."

Silver braced himself.

"Seven."

Silver threw himself to the floor as Dufresne's gun went off. He rolled, aimed, fired. Dufresne fell. Georges let out a yell. Silver was aware his side was on fire, reached for the source of the agony. His fingers came away bloody.

Max came to crouch at his side, worry etched into her features. "Dr Howell!"

Howell was leaning over Dufresne. He shook his head. Georges fell to his knees, weeping over the dead man's body.

"Let me see," Howell said, coming to attend Silver. He looked somewhat disappointed to discover it was only a graze. "I'll bathe it and bind it."

While Howell did this, Silver leaning against a tree, shaking from the post adrenaline rush more than the blood loss, Max went to talk to Georges. She returned as Howell finished patching up his patient.

"He will be leaving the country," she said. "He was Dusfresne's lover. There is nothing left for him here now, and should he remain I promised he would be charged for sodomy. Your money would soon entice Dusfresne's staff to tell the truth of what they've seen."

Silver looked over at Georges with regret. He hadn't wanted to kill Dufresne but he'd had little choice. He hadn't even aimed to kill, merely fired as best he could, hoping to disable Dufresne. He hadn't intended to kill Georges' lover.

He put his arm around Max as they headed home, letting her bear some of his weight, tired now the excitement was over. "I don't understand," he said. "Why did Dufresne accuse me of sodomy if he himself was guilty of it?"

"To throw suspicion elsewhere of course."

"I don't even know why it's a sin," Silver went on. "Why love is ever wrong. Why sexual intercourse is so important at all."

Max eyed him sideways. "You have leanings for men?"

"No. A little. I don't know. I have few leanings at all," he admitted. "I have partaken, on a few occasions, but it lacks the delights people talk of."

"Maybe you have not had the right lover," Max said. "But maybe your desires lie elsewhere. Some men are filled with lust and others are not. I have had men want solely pleasure from me and others who wish to talk and be comforted. I have had women who are curious and others who know what they want."

"Women?"

"Yes."

He was too tired to ask any more questions. A downpour started when they were five minutes from the estate and they were both soaked through when they entered the house, Max shivering violently.

Silver deterred questions from the butler, demanding a hot bath and tea and brandy and not necessarily in that order.

He told Max to take the bath, not wanting to disturb his newly bandaged wound. He settled for washing himself down with a damp cloth, towelling off his hair, and pulling on a robe. Two brandies followed and he took a cup of tea with him to find Max.

She was lying back in the tub, eyes closed, serene. Silver let his gaze linger a moment before he cleared his throat. She didn't react with surprise or disdain, made no move to cover herself - his view of her torso was obscured by the bath anyhow.

"Thank you. I appreciate the bath."

"Yes." Silver let his gaze wander over all of the parts he could see. "I have a proposition."

She turned over, leaning on the side of the bath, hazel eyes wide. "I am listening."

"I think we should marry." The words sounded odd to his ears but his lips had spoken them and his brain had queued them there after much consideration. "I've dragged you into my home unaccompanied and ruined whatever reputation you might have had. I owe you my life for warning me of Dufresne's treachery. And a wife will quiet any further wagging tongues."

"You are being serious?"

No wonder she doubted it when he felt so lost himself. "Yes. This way you will be a countess and have access to my entire estate instead of a single payment. I will also be keeping you where I can see you in case you decide to betray me." That at least was practical.

"A marriage of convenience." Max stood and climbed out of the bath. Silver initially averted his eyes but she moved, naked and dripping to stand in front of him and he gazed upon her naked body. "Are you sure that is all you want?"

"I do not expect more."

She lifted one damp hand to cup his chin. "What of companionship? I can do whatever you want. I will never do what you do not want. I would be your helpmate, your wife in any way you wish."

He let out a shuddering breath. "It does get lonely sometimes," he allowed, voice catching. It had been a long morning. "Since you arrived my life has become more interesting than I would prefer, but I can forgive you that given how fascinating and admirable you are."

"Convenience and companionship, then."

"Yes."

She leaned in and kissed him. It was tender, more soothing than exciting, and he responded, pushing himself against her, one hand at her waist, the other at the back of her neck.

"I accept the offer. I shall be your wife," Max said when they finally parted. Silver nodded and passed her a towel. "I have always liked the idea of being a noblewoman."

"I gathered that from you passing yourself off as Lady Guthrie. Is that your actual name, Guthrie?"

A cloud crossed her face. She turned away, rubbing at herself with the towel. "No. I borrowed the name from someone I once knew."

"Someone you cared about?" That seemed obvious from her tone.

She gave a sharp nod. "But we parted with harsh words between us. I would prefer not to speak further of Eleanor."

Eleanor Guthrie. Silver filed it away even as he said, "Of course. We both have pasts we would rather not discuss."

*

Silver obtained a common licence and they wed with as little ceremony as possible. Jefferson was there, possibly to make sure they went through with it so he could be free of his supposed half-sister.

High society was, as Max had discovered, already leery of him and furthermore Silver had cultivated a private persona, a man who could be amiable in company but often chose solitude, and so the lack of celebrations didn't cause as much stir as it might have, though his hasty marriage to the mysterious woman would result in tongue wagging regardless. If they thought his bride was pregnant they would soon find they were mistaken. If they thought his bride was a fortune seeker, well, they were not wrong.

For better or worse, they vowed, and signed the register and went home.

"You might have chosen a more suitable wife," Max said as they sat in the garden. "A true noblewoman."

"You know the truth of my situation. I would not risk bringing another into my confidence." An unconventional countess for an unconventional earl.

She nodded. The breeze stirred her hair. "Are you certain our marriage will protect you from further accusations of sodomy?"

"We shall see. I do know that men find you appealing and they must reason that if I am wed to you then surely I find you equally enchanting."

"Do you?"

Silver nodded. "You are beautiful."

"That is not an answer."

"I find myself at a loss."

Max tipped her head. "My charming husband, speechless? Perish the thought."

He laughed. He enjoyed hearing her address him as husband. "I find myself infrequently lusting for anyone."

"You said as much. But we should share a bed tonight. It is our wedding night."

She climbed onto his lap and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. " _Mon cœur_ ," she breathed against his ear and he closed his eyes.

How often had she had said similar words to Eleanor? She'd loved her, of that Silver was certain. He was her husband in name only and he should not forget that, but Max was making it incredibly difficult.

*

Silver had a vague idea that it was the bride who ought to feel nervous on her wedding night, not the groom. He could not imagine Max being nervous at all however, while he, inexperienced and unsure as to how much he desired her, was feeling as anxious as he had the morning of the duel.

When Max entered the room she closed the door behind her, turned, and dropped her robe. She was utterly naked, utterly beautiful. Silver swallowed, fidgeting with his own robe.

"Sit down," she urged and he backed into the bed, knees buckling so he found himself obeying her.

He mustered up a smile. She really was lovely.

Once he'd gone to a brothel to see what all the fuss was about. The whore who'd serviced him had been friendly and he'd gone along with it with enthusiasm even though he didn't actually feel desire for her. It had been enjoyable but nothing special and he never visited a brothel again. If he'd met Max back then, if he'd been her customer, would he have felt the same way?

She came to sit astride him, his robe the only barrier between their bodies. She kissed him and he returned it hungrily. There'd been a couple of women and one man and kissing had always been his favourite amorous activity. Once he'd taken on the mantle of a nobleman he was expected to behave properly in public which was not a problem. He'd forgone all sensual activities and had not missed them in the least. Yet to have Max's lips on his was undeniably pleasurable.

Max's fingers toyed with his hair, she licked at his earlobe, kissed his cheek, his neck, his collarbone. He was nowhere near naked and yet she'd given him more personal attention in the last ten minutes than he'd experienced in his entire life.

She climbed off him and bid him lie back amongst the pillows. He did as she asked, let her run her hands over his throat and the exposed part of his chest below the robe. She paused and lifted his hand. She placed it on her breast and he gently squeezed at it, let his thumb tease her nipple, delighted by the smile she gave him.

This gentleness, this prolonged intimacy was new to him. He froze when she moved back and this time slid her hands up under his robe but she made soothing sounds.

"Here?" she asked, her hands lying on his nipples.

"Yes."

She nodded. "Here?" Her hands roamed lower.

"Yes."

"Here?" Her hands were on his stomach now.

"Yes." Silver was breathless, half-excited, half-terrified, and struggling to tell the difference.

"Here?" Lower again, one finger pressing at the edge of his navel.

"Yes."

"Here?" A touch lower.

"Yes…" and, as she moved lower still, "enough."

Max paused. She moved her hands from beneath the robe and untied the cord, exposing him. "I promise," she told him. "I am content with what you are content with. It would please me to go no further than that."

And then she lavished affection on him with her hands and her mouth - her tongue, her teeth, kissing and licking and nipping, and it was glorious,. She ran her tongue along the sensitive edge of the still-healing bullet graze which was a mixture of pain and pleasure that he'd never known but wanted again. She claimed him as hers, aroused him with deliberate slowness, and when he was done, Max sat back with satisfaction.

"What else might you want? I am yours if you wish." She lay down next to him and he took his time to explore her naked body, trying to give her the same pleasure she had given him. She encouraged him, murmured endearments, smiled and laughed and sometimes wrapped her hands in his hair to draw him to a particular spot once more.

He couldn't bring her to orgasm but Max didn't seem to mind. "I can handle that," she said. "Later. Unless you want to watch."

He shook his head. Not at this moment anyway.

She'd had a bowl of lavender water brought to the room and there was a new round of intimacy as they took turns to dip cloths into the scented water and wipe each other clean. It had never before occurred to him that there were options beyond leaving the room or sleeping, sweaty and otherwise soiled, next to someone.

Afterwards they lay beneath the covers, Max cuddled up to him, her head on his chest, and Silver was content.

"That was not sex."

"Not as most would think of it, no."

"It was better than any sex I've had."

She kissed him. "I'm glad I made you happy."

"Did I make you happy?"

"Of course."

Silver sighed. "You like women."

"Yes."

"More than men?"

"Perhaps. Yes. But I like this. You must try to believe me when I say that."

"We're both liars and manipulators. It's difficult for either of us to trust anyone."

She considered this. "Yes. So we ought to pledge to not lie to each other. It is special, to have someone you can trust completely. Let us have that and lie to anyone else, but not each other."

"I'll try," Silver said. "Max?"

"Hmm?"

"People will ask about us. Why we wed with such haste."

Max sighed. "They will."

"I will tell them I could not bear to wait. Not when I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you." Silver gazed at her, caught up in his story telling. "That I love you with all of my heart. That I would not part with you for any treasure in the world."

She was silent for a long moment. "That is beautiful," she said finally, voice heavy with emotion.

"It is believable?" He'd upset her, hadn't he?

"Other people can accept you are lovestruck, yes."

He kissed her. "Maybe some of it's true."

"I do not think you loved me at first sight." She was teasing him, which made him happier.

"But what if I do love you?"

"Do you?" Max stared into his eyes.

Silver shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. I don't think I've ever been in love before. But I think maybe it feels like this."

Max kissed him. "We shall be happy," she said as if her words would make it so. "You do not need to profess your love."

But he already had and there was no taking it back. He'd acknowledged it not only to her, but to himself. It was probably foolish. Not least because she had not reciprocated the sentiment.

*

Max was asleep by the time Silver finished re-living his wedding and the first night they'd shared a bed. Things were becoming clearer and he was feeling reassured by these memories, if unsettled by how much he'd come to care for her. He fell asleep soon after and if he dreamt, he did not recall it.

The morning came all too soon.

"It's early," Silver complained when Max slid from the bed.

"It is Sunday. We must make an appearance at church."

Silver grumbled but he knew she was right. Gossip had no doubt circulated about the accident and it would be better to show up as usual.

"Will you brush my hair?" he asked, recalling how she'd mentioned it before, vague memories of such intimacy dancing at the edges of his mind.

"Of course." She beamed at him and he felt he'd done something right to earn that smile.

Max worked diligently to brush the tangles from his wavy locks, her fingers deft and gentle when she needed to tease apart a knot. She continued to run the brush along the length of his hair when she was done with the necessary grooming, both of them enjoying the quiet moment and sense of familiarity and trust. Finally however she took up a ribbon.

"What is your pleasure?" She drew back two handfuls of hair. "Half?" She released the strands and gathered up all of his hair. "Full? Something else?"

"Half," he said and she picked up the brush once more, smoothing down the top and side sections of hair so it lay flat, held neatly by the ribbon which was tied with practised ease.

As he dressed, he asked, "Do I ever brush your hair?"

"On occasion. You are not so gentle," she said and laughed at his expression. "But once it is brushed free of tangles your clever fingers can plait it most intricately, as if you were born for a life of sail and ropes."

Silver shuddered. "Perish the thought. Think what the sea water would do to my hair!"

She laughed again, and it was music to his ears.

"You must beg forgiveness for such vanity," she teased before she left to ready herself for their excursion.

"And what will you beg forgiveness for?"

Max paused and a range of emotions played across her face. "For withholding the truth from you," she said at last. "Even though it is for the best."

*

The sermon was dull, which was nothing new. Max was at his side which was new to him, though not to the rest of the congregation. They got a few glances and there were some whispers which were clearly about them, but not as much as there must have been when he first showed up with her on his arm.

Silver let his mind wander. Their wedding night had been something beautiful to recall, yet he was still suspicious of Max and her motives.

A hymn was sung. Afterwards Silver stared down at the book in his hands, not seeing the words but something far removed…

*

He jerked awake, clutching at the book in his hands. Max, sitting across from him in front of the fireplace shook her head.

"Why do you not go to bed?"

"I want to finish this chapter," he lied.

"You've been reading the same page for the last half an hour." Max sighed. "You're not sleeping."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I am a light sleeper and my bed is near the wall our rooms share," she said. "I've heard you get up and wander your room these last few nights."

"I'm sorry I've disturbed you."

"Don't be." She moved to kneel in front of him, gazing up to meet his gaze. The firelight enhanced her beauty. "Tell me what is wrong."

He shook his head.

"I am your wife. I know so many of your secrets. What is one more?" She tipped her head. "You dream, yes?"

He gave a sharp nod.

"You are ashamed of what you cannot control?"

"I am ashamed that I allow myself to be so haunted by them." He closed the book and put it aside. "They are just dreams."

"But when you are asleep they feel real." She climbed into his lap, snuggled up against him, kissed his cheek. "There is no shame in that. What is so awful that it you are afraid to sleep though? What haunts you?"

He gave a shudder. "I would rather not go into details. Let's just say that my childhood was difficult. That I grew up in an orphanage and if I am reluctant to trust and if I am suspicious of affection, the blame lies there."

" _Mon ange_ ," she whispered, stroking his hair. "Let me come to your bed tonight. I will sleep alongside you and if you are disturbed by such nightmares I will wake you."

He nodded, pressed a kiss to her hair.

*

Silver stole a sidewards glance at Max, who appeared to be listening to the sermon with rapt attention. Was that a real memory? Was her affection towards him genuine? If so, what had he done to deserve this woman?

After the service people chatted outside. Colonel Lucas bore down on them and Silver winced.

"Heard you had a fall," Lucas said, as enthusiastic as he was concerned over it, eyes glistening with excitement. "Remember your place. You're the owner not the jockey!"

"Quite," Silver agreed mildly.

"I have told him the same thing," Max agreed, slipping her arm through his and squeezing him tightly, the picture of a devoted wife. How far did this act truly go? It was enough to drive him insane. She was enough to do it merely by existing, so beautiful, so clever, so devious.

"Pity about the leg," Lucas went on.

"It should heal."

"If you keep off it." He winked, leering at Max. "No exerting yourself; difficult task."

Silver blinked and tried to rein in his offence on multiple fronts. He lifted his free hand to place it possessively on Max's elbow, crooked against his own, and steered the subject sideways. "What tall tales have spread about my foolishness?"

Lucas shrugged. "Thought you'd tame the wild beast yourself." He gave another inappropriate look at Max and Silver grit his teeth. "Upset the groom. Lamed yourself. Could have been killed. Made your delightful lady a widow. Would be a pity."

His expression said otherwise.

Oh, God. The thought of Lucas pawing at Max before Silver's body was even cold was abhorrent. At least word of his amnesia had not spread however. Before he did something ill-advised Silver frowned and nodded his head. "What on earth is Squire Haverton wearing?"

Lucas, who had strong ideas about what jewellery men ought to be allowed to wear, especially outside of London which he deemed an "appalling den of dandies", glanced over and spotted the diamond tipped pin in Haverton's cravat. "What a peacock," he agreed and went to badger the squire. Silver felt little guilt over having done the only non-violent thing he could think of to rid them of the colonel, though maybe he'd be nicer to Haverton when next they met in recompense.

"I think I want to go home," Silver said, willing to play on his injuries if necessary but nobody seemed to think it odd that he was leaving so soon.

*

They took the horses out for a gentle ride around the estate and then took tea in companionable silence.

"I have regained some memories," Silver admitted.

"Yes?"

"Our wedding. That night."

She smiled warmly. "That is good." She moved to kneel at his side. "You were limping more on the way back from the stables. Let me see."

He pushed back his chair and winced as she massaged his leg and swollen knee. The initial discomfort gave way to warmth and a relaxing of the muscles however and he leaned back, content.

She gazed up at him. "Do you think you can manage a short walk? We can sit by the lake."

He agreed and a few minutes later he was using his cane and holding onto Max as they struck out in the opposite direction to the stables, heading for the large lake to the east.

They sat on a stone bench facing the lake, Max holding his hand, staring at the water.

"I thought this might help you remember further," she said at last.

"Remember what?"

"Who." Max glanced sideways at him. "There is one important thing you do not yet know and I would have you recall it. Woodes Rogers."

Silver shrugged. "What about him?"

Max gestured to her yellow dress. "I was wearing this gown. We were sitting here, after our evening meal. It was a pleasant evening. You were telling me tall tales, only half of which I believed. And then I saw him."

She demonstrated, pointing with her free hand to a stand of trees opposite the lake. "Woodes Rogers had returned."

Silver closed his eyes, willing himself to remember.

*

It was his own fault. He'd let himself fall into complacency, to let himself believe his life was one of contentment and without further danger, to allow himself to enjoy the complex but beautiful relationship he had with Max. They went to dinners, they danced together, they talked, and sometimes they slept in the same bed. He loved her even if he found it difficult to understand or explain their relationship, and he was more than content now. He was happy.

Any time he thought things were going well life punched him the face.

This evening as he sat alongside Max, telling stories while holding her hand and luxuriating in happiness, it happened again.

Max's grip tightened on his and when he looked over he saw fear on her face. She pointed with her other hand.

A man was approaching them, circling around the lake, pistol in hand.

"Woodes Rogers," she said.

The true heir. Of course. The resemblance to his late father was plain though Max had not lied; the portrait of Woodes did not truly match this man's appearance. For one thing, in the intervening years, he'd acquired a scar on his left cheek. For another, the finery he'd once worn had been replaced by worn clothing more suitable for a peasant than a noble.

It was too far to flee back to the house even if Silver decided it was worth the risk of having the man follow them and announce himself to the servants; that option was taken from him anyway as Woodes waved the gun in his direction when Silver shifted on the bench.

"Stay where you are. I'm sure I'm honoured to meet the Earl of Poole," Rogers scoffed as he drew near. "Do people honestly believe you could be related to me?"

"Yes," Silver said. There had been a little gossip but only Dufresne had outright challenged him over it. People believed, or chose to believe the false heritage, especially when the old earl had so gladly taken the newcomer under his wing and Silver had proven more calm and compassionate than cruel or contentious.

Max attempted to get to her feet but Rogers stepped closer, pointed the gun at her. "Sit! You filthy whore. Did you think prison could hold me?"

"I'll thank you not to address my wife that way," Silver said with bravery he didn't feel. He was out here without a weapon, without Billy to back him up, far from the house with no-one to come to his aid. This would not end well.

Rogers laughed at that. "You married a foreign whore? What kind of earl do you think you are, impostor?"

Silver shrugged. "My tenants have no complaints. I'm a reasonable man and I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"You're going to try and buy my silence with money that is rightfully mine?" Rogers shook his head. "I despised my father and I don't care about this estate. It can rot for all I care. But I despise you more, lying and cheating your way into my father's affections and parading around as a nobleman."

Max tipped her head. "He is envious of your relationship with his father," she said softly.

"Shut up! I won't tell you again!" Rogers brandished the pistol. Max shrank under his rage, leaning over so her head was almost in her lap, fumbling with her skirts in fear.

"So you're going to shoot me? Us? Leave our bodies for the staff to find? Or kill me, claim self-defence, take the estate back even though you don't want it? Wouldn't you rather take enough money to start over again abroad?" Silver was desperately trying to think of ways to convince Rogers to spare them.

Rogers took a step forward, eyes fixed on Silver. "I swore vengeance on you both. It is serendipitous to find you together here, defenceless."

A shot rang out. Rogers looked puzzled, the pistol in his hand unfired. Blood pooled on his thigh. Max jumped to her feet as he stumbled, hit him across the face with the still smoking barrel of her gun. He fell to the floor, shrieking.

Silver scrambled to disarm Rogers.

"You carry a pistol in your petticoats?" he asked with renewed admiration.

"Yes." Max kicked Rogers so he lay on his back, planted a foot on his chest.

"Have I told you how much I love you?"

"This is not the time, _mon amour_ ," she said but she gave him a flash of a smile. "So, what do we do with him?"

Rogers was bleeding out, blood gushing onto the well-kept lawn. He'd probably die anyway. They could still attempt to save him but he'd tell anyone they summoned the truth and if he lived he'd never stop hunting them. And if he didn't stop yelling he might bring the staff to their aid.

Silver checked Rogers pistol, found it loaded, held it to the man's head. He swallowed. This was beyond the boundaries of self-defence.

"You don't have to," Max said. "We will think of something else."

"A gentleman must sometimes put a horse out of its misery," Silver said, mostly to convince himself that this was a necessary evil, if not an act of mercy. "This is much the same situation."

"You don't have the backbone," Rogers hissed between his cries of pain, pale and clammy.

They were his last words.

Silver dropped the gun to the floor and turned away, willing himself not to retch. Max came and wrapped her arms around him, soothing him in French.

"We have to dispose of the body," Silver said at last and she nodded. Rogers' pistol was shoved into his coat and they weighed down his pockets with stones. Max tore strips from her petticoat and they filled Rogers' trouser legs with stones, tied them off with the linen strips.

It took both of them to lift him and drag him into the lake. It was thankfully deep and the water was almost at Silver's shoulders, Max struggling to stay afloat under the weight of her dress, before they dropped the body and let it sink to the silty depths below.

They squeezed out their wet garments over the bloodstain, throwing further handfuls of water onto the grass. Clouds were moving in and if they were lucky it would rain tonight and ensure there no evidence of their crime remained.

They made their way back to the house in silence, Silver with one arm around Max, both of them shivering from the cold and the shock.

"Next time I decide to paddle in the lake warn me against it," Silver announced to Max when they were greeted by the butler, making up a cover story for the staff. "And thank you again for coming to my aid when I slipped over. I fear I require more practice in the water."

They bathed side by side in stunned silence, Silver climbing out his tin bath first. When Max joined him in his room they drank brandy before discarding their robes. They went to bed scandalously unclothed, cuddling up for warmth and comfort.

It was after midnight when Silver woke to find himself alone. He sat up and saw Max, wrapped in her robe, staring out of the window. He slid out of bed and padded over to her, the night air cool against his naked body. He peered over her shoulder. No ghostly form haunted the grounds. Woodes Rogers would never bother them again.

To his surprise there were tear tracks on Max's cheeks. He wrapped one arm around her. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "I was thinking of something else."

"Someone else?"

"Yes. He was not a good man. He hurt Eleanor. He hurt me. I begged Eleanor to leave with me when I took Rogers' money. But she stayed. She chose her path and that included him. I chose to start over and I swore I would not be hurt again."

He couldn't blame her for going around armed. He owed her his life for that foresight in any event. And despite her past she'd trusted him, married him. It made him love her more. "I'm sorry. You must miss her."

"Every day. Sometimes I think of writing her a letter and asking her forgiveness for the harsh words I said when I left."

"Were they true?"

Max nodded, wiped at her face with one sleeve. "I might have been more diplomatic."

"Passion makes us careless."

"Yes. It makes us do foolish things." Max looked back at the window, gaze fixed further than the estate below them. "It makes me wonder if, now I am a countess with the security that brings, I could persuade Eleanor to leave the safety of what she knows and start anew. I know it is foolish to think on it and yet the thought persists."

She still loved Eleanor. She still wanted Eleanor. Of course she did.

Max sighed. "I did not mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I'm surprised I slept at all after the day we had." Silver released her and went back to bed. "Will you come and warm me back up?"

She nodded and joined him, discarding her robe along the way. She held him close and he relaxed into her touch.

"It's over," Max said, possibly to convince herself as well as him, possibly meaning both the danger she'd faced before and the danger she'd faced today. "We are safe."

Of course it was over. The marriage was no longer necessary and he could never be enough for her. Silver couldn't face that discussion so he kissed her and pretended to sleep until the pretence became real.

*

"I killed Woodes Rogers," Silver said, staring blankly at the lake.

"We killed him," Max corrected. "Neither of us can ever turn the other in without incriminating ourselves."

"When was this?"

"Less than two weeks ago."

Silver shook his head, perturbed. Max slipped one arm around him.

"We are safe."

From Woodes Rogers yes. But that had changed things. Not because of the killing, which she rightly pointed out only made them more reliant on each other. But because the death of Woodes Rogers meant Silver no longer needed Max to watch out for his approach. And he'd killed Dufresne and then married a woman so his social status was secure. Given that she preferred women, the only reasonable thing to do was to give Max her due and let her leave. An abandoned husband would gain pity, a little scorn, but nothing he couldn't handle. A husband who parted with his wife citing her infidelity would be given a similar reception.

Max could be free of him and he…

He would not be free. He would be alone.

But it was the right thing to do.

"Why do you look so sad?" Max put one hand on his cheek.

He swallowed. "There's a body at the bottom of our lake. We had better pray there is never a drought."

Max gave him a small smile but she was not fully taken in by his attempt to distract her.

"Let's go back to the house." Silver reached for his cane. He took Max's arm as they made their return journey, lost in his thoughts.

*

Silver sat in the study, papers and books scattered on his desk. He tapped his cane thoughtfully on the floor as he studied them, assessing how much his estate and business concerns were worth, how much he could reasonably withdraw for Max, how much she deserved, how much money she would need.

She came to stand at the doorway. "Dinner will be ready soon."

"Yes."

"What are you working on?"

"I'm trying to recall the details of months of business affairs that I am still not certain of." It wasn't entirely a lie.

Max tipped her head. "You seem distant."

"In the past couple of days I've remembered killing two men. These memories are difficult to re-live." Also not a lie but still an attempt to distract her.

She was not so easily swayed. "Not all the memories are unpleasant."

He shook his head.

"Talk to me," she begged, moving to stand in front of the desk.

What to say?

"I still don't recall why I risked my life on an unruly horse."

Max lowered her gaze. "We had a disagreement."

"Oh?" She was becoming more forthcoming as his memories returned, eager for him to fully recall their time together. A little more and he'd know everything. "What did we disagree about?"

"Us."

He picked up a book, fumbled for his cane, limped to replace the volume on the nearby bookshelf. He didn't want her to see his face, certain he was not able to control his expression.

"It is not my wish to keep you here unnecessarily," he said, as if he were refusing a second cup of tea.

Max was silent. When he dared to look over at her he was stunned to see her eyes glinting with tears, her hands balled into fists.

"Have you learnt nothing?"

"What?"

"Must we go through this again? I hoped that fall had knocked some sense into you, John Silver, but you are as much a fool as ever!" Max paced the room.

"I don't understand."

"You never have!" 

Max grabbed the vase he'd once offered her as payment and threw it across the room. It narrowly missed him, shattering against the bookcase, shards falling to the floor.

"Max!"

She stormed over, pushed him against the bookcase and grabbed his shirt with both hands. He fought confusion and fear and then Max kissed him, hard.

"Max," he said again when he could breathe but this time with softness, regret.

"Do you know what you did to me?" She smoothed down his shirt, refusing to meet his gaze. "To have you try to send me away? Then you left this house in such a temper as I had never seen before. Can you imagine what I felt when I saw you lying in Billy's arms, maybe dead, maybe terribly injured?" She bit back a sob.

Silver lifted one hand tentatively, slipped it around her waist, drawing her closer.

"Doctor Howell said I should prepare myself for the worst. That you might never wake up." Max rested her head on his shoulder. "I was so angry with you. So hurt. I was sitting there, scolding you for your recklessness, and when you woke up I had never felt so relieved."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't remember the argument."

He kissed her hair, rubbed his fingers against her back. "I will try."

*

Silver tried half a dozen times to broach the subject. At last he chose a course of action. He would make it easier on them both.

"Now that Rogers is dead and my reputation is secure we ought to consider putting an end to the charade."

Max stared at him, brow furrowed. "The charade?"

"Our marriage. I can give you money. You can leave here. Be free. Perhaps find this Eleanor Guthrie you love so dearly."

She looked like he'd slapped her. He felt as if he'd stabbed himself in the heart.

"Is that what you want?" Max asked, voice steady.

It took every ounce of his self-control to show disdain rather than beg her to stay. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Max raised an eyebrow. "Then maybe I shall."

"Good!" Anger was the only way he could avoid breaking down completely.

"As you wish, my lord!"

Silver, never wanting to go without the last word, fumbled until he came up with, "No, as you wish, _countess_!"

If the use of the title being thrown like an insult stung he didn't see it for he was already storming out of the room. He walked without conscious thought to the stables.

Billy was studying their latest horse. Sea-Fury was well named, a grey stallion with a fierce temperament. Silver felt like doing something reckless to let off steam and he gestured impatiently.

"Saddle the horse."

"Sir?"

"The horse, Billy. Saddle it. I am going to tame the beast."

Billy shook his head. "Sir, Sea-Fury is not ready to be ridden by anyone yet."

"Who am I, Billy?"

Billy looked confused. "Sir?"

"Quite. I am the earl and master of this estate and if I tell you to saddle the horse you saddle the horse!"

"I must protest," Billy said wretchedly. "Please, sir."

"One more word from you and you'll be out on the street," Silver threatened. He didn't mean it but Billy's face crumpled. "Forget it. I'll ride bareback. Isn't that how you break a horse?"

Billy's eyes widened and he shook his head, lips compressed tightly.

Silver climbed over the fence into the paddock. Sea-Fury snorted as he approached, ears pinned back, tail flicking in warning.

It was the stupidest thing he'd ever done and he'd done some stupid things in his life. He never even managed to mount the horse, Sea-Fury lashing out so that he was thrown aside. He knew nothing more until he found himself with a wife he no longer remembered, not knowing she was the reason he'd taken the risk in the first place.

*

"I remember," Silver said. "I remember it all."

"You remember what a fool you are?" It sounded affectionate so he didn't take offence at her words.

"I recall I tried to send you away," he said. This time however he told her why. His fear that she was trapped here with him when she wanted someone else. That she wanted Eleanor. That he could never be enough.

Max listened until he'd had his say. Then she clasped his face in her hands. "You should have told me. I could have reassured you. Oh, my love."

She kissed him and it was far softer than the earlier kiss and far more enjoyable.

"I want you to listen to me," she said softly. "I want you to hear what I say."

He nodded.

"I love you. Do you think I would have been grief-stricken at your accident otherwise? No, I would not have been. I became your wife for the convenience it afforded us both but I also offered you companionship. I always wanted that for us. I came to love you deeply. You care for your staff and your tenants. When I asked you to stand and fight Dufresne you did, despite your fear. You are almost as clever as you think you are and a better man than you believe. You do not hold my past against me and have shown me respect, listened to my advice. You have given me peace I never thought to secure. We are more alike than not, two liars who've found someone they want to share the truth with. I love you in all the ways I can truly love a man. I love you in ways I cannot put words to." She stepped back. "Is that not enough?"

Silver shrugged, blinking away unexpected tears. "Yes," he said. "Yes. I never thought to have such affection. Even now I am not certain I am worthy of it."

She held him again, soothing him until he calmed. "And you? What do you feel for me?"

"I love you more than I have ever loved anyone," he said without hesitation. "More than I ever thought I was capable of. I think perhaps I did fall in love with you that first day; your brazenness, your beauty, your deviousness. And it is true that I love you with all of my heart. You are my greatest treasure."

She gave him a warm smile. "Promise me you will never be so reckless again."

"I promise. No more wild horses."

The dinner bell rang and they spent a moment tidying their appearances before they dared to present themselves in front of the staff.

*

After dinner they took a stroll out towards the Rochester estate. Silver paused to look up at the stars.

"I've been thinking."

Max sighed. "What madness do you have in mind now?"

"At some point people are going to expect us to provide an heir," Silver said. "I was thinking we could adopt an orphan or two. We could go abroad for a year, adopt a baby, return and claim it is our own. Or adopt an older child. Possibly claim they are a hitherto unknown relation."

"I see. That would be in the future," Max said. "I am not ready for that."

"Nor I. But it is something we should consider. And if we did have a child then they would need a governess. Perhaps you could suggest a suitable candidate. Maybe Eleanor Guthrie? Maybe some other woman you found…acceptable? I would turn a blind eye if she sometimes slept in your bed."

She shook her head. "You are still concerned I need sex."

"Yes."

"You are kind to think of allowing such a thing. We can talk about this more but for now accept that I am happy. If you persist I shall start talking about inviting Dorset's newest gentleman tenant James McGraw to dinner and seeing if he is acceptable to you. I hear he is dashing and educated and I still wonder if you do not prefer men."

Silver gave her a look. "Isn't he married?"

"Aren't you?"

He conceded the point. "I'm happy as I am. As we are."

"Truly?" Max leaned her head on his shoulder and he slipped one arm around her, pulling her close to him. The scent of rosemary and lemon danced in the air.

"Yes." Happier than he'd ever dared hoped to be. Against all odds, his unconventional countess loved him just as much as he loved her.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the summary of THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS by Michelle Willingham; Stephen Chesterfield, Earl of Whitmore, awakes to find a beauty berating him - but he cannot recall the last three months of his life, or having a wife! Emily is clearly the most unsuitable consort, but he cannot stop himself falling for her all over again...
> 
> [Tumblr promo post](http://meridianrose.tumblr.com/post/164322137766/unconventional-countess-by-meridianrose)


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